


What Once Was Himring

by The_Passing_Seasons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hogwarts Origin Story, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, The Silmarillion References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Passing_Seasons/pseuds/The_Passing_Seasons
Summary: If you have read Hogwarts: A History, then you would already know how the four Founders raised Hogwarts out of the ground as the last sanctuary for wizarding children in Great Britain. But even Hogwarts: A History cannot tell you everything.For example, once upon a time, Hogwarts was a fortress.
Kudos: 52





	What Once Was Himring

**Author's Note:**

> \- This story is set after the Battle of Hogwarts and contains a number of references to the Silmarillion. Most of these references are summed up in the following blurb:  
> Set in the same universe as the Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion describes the doomed quest of the Noldor, a group of elves led by Fëanor and his half-brothers, who came from Valinor to retrieve three stolen jewels known as the Silmarils. They eventually settled in Beleriand (the northernmost part of Middle Earth) and built many great kingdoms and strongholds to defeat Morgoth, the Dark Lord who stole the Silmarils. One of these strongholds was named Himring, which was located in the mountains and was ruled by Maedhros, first son of Fëanor. His brother Maglor defended the Gap between the mountains and was one of the greatest musicians on Middle Earth. Eventually, the quest for the Silmarils failed, and after the War of Wrath (during which the host of Valinor defeated Morgoth), all of Beleriand was washed under the sea except for Himring (among other places) and Maglor (among other elves and men). Maglor roamed the new coasts of Middle Earth until he faded from existence (i.e., died).
> 
> \- I headcanon that Maglor helped to preserve Himring long after Beleriand sank into the sea.
> 
> \- The only characters that are actually named are Harry and his friends, and the only place named is Hogwarts. I hope I have provided enough context clues so that the other characters and places (mainly Maglor and Himring) can be inferred.
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy.

Any British wizard can tell you that magic constantly seeps through the walls of Hogwarts, but they fail to agree on what _kind_ of magic comprises those timeless halls. Some say it is the ghosts of the four Founders that keep the building alive. Others think that it is dark magic that makes its roots grow deep. And still more believe that Hogwarts is simply Hogwarts--a sentient building that lives and breathes like any of us.

  
The disagreement makes sense, of course. If you were to walk into Hogwarts, you would feel the magic differently than the student that passes you in the corridor or the exasperated professor in the classroom next to you. But if you and _that_ student and _that_ teacher really sat down and _felt_ the magic as it meandered through the walls, you would all come to the same conclusion:

  
Hogwarts is made of music.

...

If you have read Hogwarts: A History, then you would already know how the four Founders raised Hogwarts out of the ground as the last sanctuary for wizarding children in Great Britain. But even Hogwarts: A History cannot tell you everything.

  
For example, once upon a time, Hogwarts was a fortress--

  
A fortress of clean-cut stone and towering spires, of graceful arches and echoing corridors, all held together by the sheer magic of one of the most powerful beings to ever roam this land.

  
He was from an age so long ago that you and I cannot fathom it. He saw the fortress at its prime when it was filled with bustling soldiers and commoners alike as they weathered an Evil too far yet too near.

  
Although he loved it well, he himself was not the lord of the fortress; instead, that duty fell to his eldest and most beloved brother, who tasked him to defend the Gap that lay between their stronghold in the mountains and the Evil beyond. And he performed his role gladly--

  
Until the War to end all others swept through the lands, a war that stopped the great Evil but did not spare the many homes. It caused the sea to roar through the plains and forests, the rivers to forge new courses, and the lands to sink underneath the raging waters. Shortly after the war, the lord of the fortress was driven mad by despair and loss, dying an untimely death. Others fled inland over the mountains or boarded ships to a faraway home.

  
And when the tide finally settled, and the lands grew still, he was left all alone.

  
Filled with grief and yearning, he sat by the shores of a new sea, and playing a soft chord from his harp, he began to sing.

  
He sang of times long past and a family long gone, of happier moments on both this shore and the last. He sang of pride and fire mixed potently into a single soul and of kin fair, dark, and talented that he would never see again. He sang of a quest that was hopeless from the start yet still blackened with every passing sun.

  
He sang of his eldest brother, his idol, his lord--the one who raised the fortress with clear determination and a people skilled in craft. The fairest, the strongest, the sternest--but the most hollow of them all.

  
And as he sang, his music weaved throughout the fortress that now sat solemn amongst the lapping waves. Its potent magic filled the stronghold, sealing its existence long after he grew weary of the world.

...

Ages passed, and the fortress still stood as the mountains levelled and the sea retreated to nothing more than a lake. Its guardian faded to a shadow of what he used to be, but his music held strong.

  
That was when the four Founders discovered it.

  
They were amazed at the magic that permeated the stronghold, at the architecture so old it was foreign to them, at weapons still shining as if they were newly forged. They were enchanted with the building and all the secrets it had to offer, so they decided to build Hogwarts there.

  
The rooms were converted to classrooms; the spacious dining hall became the Great Hall. New wings were added to the original building, and all weapons were removed from the unnecessary armories--except for a gleaming sword with a ruby-studded hilt.

  
As time passed, Hogwarts bloomed into a haven of magic and learning. But sometimes, a student would discover a silent, untouched chamber or an aged but deadly weapon wrought long ago to fight a war long-forgotten.

...

When he learned of what would become of his domain, he smiled, glad that the fortress would be filled with life once more.

  
The Founders never saw him, but he was always present, guiding the magic in Hogwarts to hold up foundations that should have collapsed many years ago.

  
In a way, he was the guardian of the castle and her children, for he knew the comings and goings of all throughout the building. His magic became a comfort to the needy and a nightmare to the bullies. It changed and shaped to whatever the listener needed to hear or feel the most.

  
And that was the true magic of Hogwarts.

...

In all the years it stood, the fortress--and later Hogwarts--never crumbled.

  
Until the Battle of Hogwarts, where portraits and paintings were ripped from the walls, where staircases shattered and classrooms burned beyond use. Destruction lay waste to the once beautiful and noble castle.

  
As he surveyed the wizards and witches pick their ways through the debris, he decided it was time to reveal himself.

...

Harry Potter stared despairingly at the wreckage that was his school, his true home. The aged but proud Hogwarts he knew and loved could--and _would_ \--be built anew, yet it would not be the same.

  
He sighed and watched Ron and Hermione tread cautiously among the rubble towards him. He could hear both cheers and sobs across the Hogwarts grounds as people celebrated Voldemort’s defeat and mourned for those they had lost. The Elder Wand dangled limply from his hand.

  
“Merlin,” Ron swore, surveying the damage. “This won’t be a quick fix.”

  
“Did you expect it to be?” Hermione asked tiredly but resolutely. “Of course, instead of simply standing here, we _should_ be helping the others find their loved ones, clear the debris, rebuild …”

  
Her voice trailed off, her eyes watching something approach in the distance. Harry and Ron turned towards the surrounding wreckage, trying to identify what Hermione saw that made her so abruptly speechless.

  
Then, Harry spotted it--or _him_ , in this case. Out of the debris and dust emerged a figure cloaked in a faded grey that matched the rubble around him. His hood was pulled low over his face, and if it were not for the slight swaying of his cloak in the dying breeze, Harry would not have seen him.

  
The stranger sat down gracefully onto a piece of untouched lawn near the ruins of Hagrid’s house. He took out a worn but well-kept harp and began to sing.

  
His voice was the most beautiful sound Harry had ever heard, and he stared at the cloaked figure, mesmerized. The low chatter died down to silence as others turned towards the singer and listened to his song.

  
The stranger’s voice was powerful, but it held a note of melancholy so profound that it brought silent tears to some of the onlookers. Yet still they watched and listened.

  
And right before their very eyes, the castle built itself anew.

  
Stones floated back into place, portraits hung at their correct spots, tables righted, and doors closed. But the song did not cease until long after the castle was rebuilt, ending peacefully with a final chord.

  
No applause greeted the musician, for his audience was too captivated by the soulful emotion his music carried.

  
For a few moments, all was quiet.

  
Then, Harry stepped towards the singer. He conjured a glass of water with a wave of his wand and placed it in a pair of calloused hands. The musician looked up from where he was seated next to his harp, his hood falling back to reveal a face weathered by time and eyes filled with a deep-rooted sorrow. He smiled softly as he accepted the glass, and a hint of noble beauty passed across his face. Raising the glass to chapped lips, he drank until it was empty.

  
When he handed the glass back to Harry, their fingers brushed briefly.

  
“ _Annon allen_ ,” the musician whispered, exhaling softly as he lowered his head and closed his eyes.

  
A gentle wind brushed long, greying hair across delicately-pointed ears, and Harry watched as the singer and his harp faded with the passing breeze. The castle shuddered slightly before standing silent for the first time.

  
With the glass in hand, Harry turned and walked back towards his friends, his thoughts lingering on the last words the singer spoke.

  
Somehow, he knew they meant _thank you_.


End file.
